


new traditions

by dilkirani



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz isn't great at skiing, FitzSimmons Secret Santa 2018, SciOps AU, and christmas fluff, and of course there's only one bed!!, little angst with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17302193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/pseuds/dilkirani
Summary: FitzSimmons have spent every Christmas since starting at the Academy together. This year, he's agreed to a ski trip without her. When she gets invited along anyway, will they finally have a discussion about their relationship?





	new traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatlighttasteslike (waitingforeleven)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforeleven/gifts).



> For Mel, who requested "sci-ops friends-to-lovers during the holidays (with bed sharing!)" as part of the FitzSimmons Secret Santa 2018. I've loved being your Secret Santa, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to itsavolcano for the beta and support! <3

Jemma Simmons loves Christmas in America. It’s something she hadn’t anticipated when she left Sheffield for a city too small for an airport and discovered she’d be spending the holidays amongst accents as flat as the windswept plains, an endless variety of casseroles, and not a single person who understood the importance of a Christmas cracker.

Every December since she arrived at the Academy has been bitterly cold, beyond anything she’d experienced at home. She’s mastered the art of wearing three layers minimum and re-designed her own gloves to retain heat more efficiently. She unabashedly adores the gaudy decorations in the town’s almost-revitalized downtown, and she’s made enough friends of legal drinking age to ensure she’s never without the necessary ingredient for mulled wine.

And Fitz is here, of course. It’s strange to think they grew up five hours apart by train and yet it took moving to the secret training academy of a secret organization and one particularly persistent lab instructor for them to become friends. It’s not that she doesn’t miss her family because she does, terribly. And she does occasionally regret that so far, in the four years she’s been at the Academy and now Sci-Ops, they’ve never been granted enough winter break leave for even one Christmas at home. But four years is enough time to create new traditions, like watching all the holiday episodes of their favorite TV shows, or Jemma finding a new snow-related activity to bribe Fitz into trying with the promise of alcohol-laced hot chocolate as a reward. Or how every year they insist there’s no need to buy gifts, but when they drowsily rouse themselves on Christmas morning, having passed out in the middle of a movie the night before, they always sheepishly—and elatedly—hand over presents they’ve hidden around the flat.

For some reason, the memory of waking up last Christmas to soft music still playing through the TV and Fitz’s stockinged feet barely brushing against her calves is the only thing her mind can focus on as he stammers an apology, fidgeting awkwardly when she doesn’t immediately respond.

“But we…” She trails off, unsure what she means. Of course they hadn’t had plans; they never did. They spent their Christmases together because they did everything together, but she had never thought to solidify their arrangement into an enunciated plan, something real that couldn’t be broken this casually, in their kitchen while slicing tomatoes for a sandwich.

“I’m sorry,” Fitz says again. “I should have told you sooner, but I’ve been trying to get out of going. It’s just—she invited me back when you...when Milton—” He has the grace to blush at least. His completely illogical aversion to Jemma’s ex-boyfriend, who while admittedly boring had always been rather harmless, remains a touchy subject. “Anyway, I agreed but then when you...I forgot about it. Honestly, I did, and she’s already paid the deposit so I can’t _not_ go. It’s only for a few days anyway. We can do Christmas when I get back, yeah?”

He looks so forlorn and genuinely upset she has no choice but to smile, reassuring him that of course it’s fine, and anyway she has a few projects she’d love to get a head start on when the lab briefly empties out.  

That night, she picks up the artfully wrapped gift on her nightstand, tracing a finger admiringly over the cartoon monkeys in Santa hats. She’d been delighted when she’d found it in some hipster stationer months ago and had to stop herself on several occasions from showing him. She knows she’s being irrational; neither she nor Fitz is religious, so exchanging gifts a few days later changes nothing. But there’s a tightness in her chest, some toxic combination of hurt and homesickness, as if home were a person who could ignore years of tradition and agree to a ski trip—a _ski trip_ , as if home had ever had any interest in spending frivolous amounts of money to waste time with their classmates in frigid weather.

Jemma breathes out her bitterness; it’s not the season for it, after all. It’s just that she’s really starting to hate Christmas in America.      

++

“Hey, Simmons,” Sally calls, bouncing over to her. “I’m bummed you can’t make the ski trip. Honestly can’t believe Fitz agreed to go without you. Are you excited to be going home for Christmas?”

Jemma takes a sip of her takeaway tea to cover her complete bewilderment, but after she’s swallowed she finds she’s still without an appropriate response. “Sorry?”

Sally doesn’t appear to notice her discomfort, swinging her messenger bag to the side and rewrapping the scarf that had fallen from her neck. “Must suck to go for only a few days, but at least you’ll get to see your family. It’s ridiculous they don’t let us leave more often. Capitalism, am I right?”

“But I’m—I’m not.”

Sally glances over at Jemma quickly, her face falling. “Oh man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had to cancel. Fitz didn’t mention it. So you’re just going to stay here?”

Jemma doesn’t know if she’s more embarrassed or confused and it makes her abnormally defensive, her voice taking on a cheery pitch that sounds excruciatingly false even to her. “I’m excited though. Practically the whole lab to myself! I’ll be able to finish so many projects. And it’ll be nice to have some quiet time anyway. You know how chaotic it gets here.”

Sally eyes her for a moment, her forehead wrinkling in sympathy. “Girl. I know you do not want to spend your few precious days of freedom here.” She flings her arm out, encompassing the desolate landscape dotted with innocuous buildings. You’d never be able to tell some of the brightest minds in the world studied and worked here; it was a thought that often made Jemma smile. Now, it makes her sad.

She could deny it. Jemma likes Sally, but they’re not particularly close. Something in the other woman’s overly-friendly Midwestern demeanor thaws her though, and she sighs. “Not really, no,” she admits.

Sally grins, clapping her hands. “Come on the trip! We have an extra slot since Hawke got arrested. It’ll be fun! And it might be the only time the rest of us are better at something than the wunderkinds.”

When Jemma tells Fitz she’s now also attending the ski trip, he acts so excited it’s infectious. They drag their suitcases into the living room to pack together, Jemma critiquing his suboptimal folding style and Fitz retaliating by sneaking copious amounts of junk food into her bag. She’s oddly delighted to be going—so much so that it’s not until she’s squeezed into the back of a minivan between Fitz and Sally that she remembers she never asked Fitz why he’d lied about her plans in the first place.         

++

Her excitement dissipates rather quickly when Sally shows them to their room.

“What. The. _Hell_?” Fitz hisses, dropping his backpack to the ground next to his suitcase. The one, solitary, barely-big-enough-for-two-people bed is humiliating in its brazenness. Jemma hopes her face isn’t as red as it feels.  

“I’m sorry,” Sally says, sounding genuinely contrite. “Everyone already paired up, and since Hawke was originally sharing with Fitz, it’s the only spot left. Besides, you guys live together anyway, so we figured it’d be fine.”

“We share a _flat_ , not a _bed_ ,” Fitz apparently feels the need to clarify, before immediately turning bright red himself.

Sally huffs defensively. “You’ll be fine. You guys are more used to small beds than the rest of us.”

“What?” Fitz squeaks. “I’m not _that_ short!”

“I meant because you’re British! Don’t you have smaller beds?”

“Our beds are perfectly normal-sized, thank you very much,” Jemma says primly. She clears her throat. “This will be fine. I’ll just unpack my things.”

Fitz sputters beside her. “Surely there’s an extra air mattress around here.”

“Ugh, _Fitz_!”Jemma snaps. “It’s fine.” She plasters on a grateful smile for Sally and closes the door gently in her face before turning to glare at Fitz.

“What? There has to be extra bedding. Or we could go into town and buy a sleeping bag.”

“Oh, grow up,” she sighs. “We’re adults. We’re likely to be in much more uncomfortable situations in the field.” She methodically begins unpacking her bag, hanging her clothes in the wardrobe to avoid looking at Fitz. She’s not exactly thrilled about the arrangement either, but was it necessary for Fitz to reveal just how horrified the situation made him, in front of Sally?

“Sorry,” he mumbles, stuffing his clothes into the drawers of the nightstand in a much less methodical manner.

But somewhere around two in the morning, Jemma starts to think she’d made a huge miscalculation. She hadn’t wanted to give Sally (and by extension the others) another reason to gossip, and considering the number of times they’d fallen asleep in each other’s dorm room or on the couch in their living room, she didn’t expect this to be an issue, falsely-advertised double-bed or no.

Now, after listening to his steady breathing for almost two hours, Jemma worries she won’t get any sleep at all.

Fitz had seemed uneasy as they walked down to dinner with the rest of their group, but after a full meal followed by drinks and roasted marshmallows around the fire pit, even he had joined in on some lively debates. Once back in their room (which seemed to Jemma to have shrunk in the few hours they’d been gone), however, he acted increasingly nervous. He’d gotten ready for bed quickly and settled down on his side so close to the edge he was in danger of falling.

Jemma tries not to be hurt at how obviously uncomfortable he is sharing a bed with her. And she tries not to think about how ridiculous it is to be hurt by his reaction to something she hadn’t wanted either.

In his sleep, Fitz turns onto his back, slightly more towards the center of the bed. Jemma rolls over so she can face him, his profile illuminated every few seconds by a blinking neon bar sign outside their window. She’d never before noticed how still Fitz is in sleep—for once, his fingers idle, the restless energy contained within him dissipated.

She feels an ache deep within her that she can’t quite explain. They are so close she could reach out and touch him and yet she misses him deeply. It’s because of this trip, she thinks. Because Fitz hid it from her and changed all their plans last minute.

Jemma sighs. They’re all stressed—she and Fitz especially, but all their other friends too. The last few weeks at Sci-Ops had been brutal. Maybe she should relax and enjoy the fact that she’d gotten a nice holiday without even having to beg Fitz.

He turns over again without waking, curling his body towards her, and she can’t help but smile at how relaxed he seems. She can feel the soft puffs of his exhalations against her face, and eventually this soothes her to sleep.

++

Sally was right about one thing—the rest of the group is absolutely better at skiing. After watching Fitz fall into Jemma and the both of them struggle to get back up before they’d even made it onto the ski lift, Priya smiles kindly and directs them towards the ski instruction area, currently overrun with children who appear to be under ten.

“Don’t be intimidated by them,” Priya says. “Kids have no fear.”

“Kids are dumb. People have died while skiing. Remember Sonny Bono?” Fitz grouses.

“Don’t worry, mate. We’ll meet back up when you two have graduated to the bunny slopes. I’ll buy you a beer, yeah?” Hunter slices through the snow near Fitz’s feet, showing off his snowboarding skills. Fitz rolls his eyes, in a way Jemma recognizes as meaning he’s impressed but refusing to admit it. Hunter had latched onto their group, having made plans to come to the same ski resort with his at-the-time on-again girlfriend Bobbi and deciding canceling after the breakup would be “giving in.” He’d also somehow recognized right away they were SHIELD as well (“Does SciTech even _have_ basic espionage courses?”). From his near-constant stories about his ex, Jemma wishes Bobbi had been the one to come instead. Although, he had promised to share his hoard of British junk food solely with her and Fitz, which earned him a few points in Jemma’s book and a lifetime of friendship from Fitz.

Fitz and Jemma watch the rest of their group glide effortlessly towards the ski lift, and when they’re out of sight turn simultaneously to the conveyor belt contraption designed to get them to the top of what could only generously be called a mound.

“I really thought I might turn out to be a skiing prodigy,” Jemma confesses, as children rush past them for another turn.

Fitz snorts. “Because you’ve always been top of the class at everything else?”

“Well, yes. And we understand the science behind the whole endeavor. I knew you would struggle, of course, but I’ve—”

“Hey! Just because you’re better than me at ice skating and everything else we’ve tried doesn’t mean you’re actually _good_!”

“I happen to be an excellent ice skater! Remember how I skated backwards without falling?”

“Simmons, I’m pretty sure all of these kids could do that. The point remains that neither—”

“Hey, guys!” A very athletic, slightly bored-looking ski instructor interrupts them. “Here for some lessons?”

“Oh, yes! FitzSimmons,” Jemma chirps, before remembering they’re out in the non-SHIELD world and for once their reputation has not preceded them. “Fitz,” she quickly elaborates, pointing to her side.

“Simmons,” he sighs, nodding at her while precariously balancing himself against a ski pole.

The instructor—Maggie—squints as if intending to ask a follow-up question but then thinking better of it. “Well, don’t worry, we’ll have you skiing down the black diamonds in no time. Just kidding, you two should probably stick with the beginner slopes. But don’t let anyone make you feel ashamed!”

“Why would we feel ashamed?” Fitz grumbles.

“Are we truly that bad?” Jemma asks, sadly.

Maggie breezes past their questions. “It’s still excellent exercise and so much fun, no matter your level. Okay, so to start with, let’s not stand like that…”

Jemma doesn’t know what she finds more surprising: that hours pass going down the same tiny hill over and over, that her muscles hurt by the end of it, or that she’s actually had a ridiculous amount of fun with Fitz despite being constantly shown-up by small children, many of whom embarrassingly decide to inquire where their own children are.

When they decide they’re ready for a break, they can’t find anyone from their group, so they opt to warm themselves by the fire with hot chocolate. Fitz stands in line for their drinks while Jemma strips off her top two layers, setting them carefully by the fire to dry off.

When he returns, Jemma takes her mug gratefully, snuggling against Fitz gradually as she drinks. _For the body heat_ , she tells herself. She’s still quite cold. He doesn’t even tense up, like she’d been half-expecting. Lately, she has found herself overthinking her interactions with him. Their friendship had always been linear—effortless, really. They finish each other’s sentences, collaborate on projects, and share the same interests outside of work. But there’s been a subtle shift ever since her brief relationship with Milton, and she doesn’t know whether it’s come more from Fitz or from her own secrets, the accusations Milton had thrown at her towards the end which she had never shared with anyone.

They talk about _everything_ —science, their families, annoyances, Doctor Who fan theories. But obviously they’ve each been keeping their own secrets. She could confront him, but sitting here at Christmastime in front of a fire, the warmth of his soft jumper pressed to her cheek, she finds she’s much too scared to ask why he’d agreed to this trip in the first place. And she’s much too scared to delve deeper into the part of her body attuned to his movements, to wonder why her heart beats faster at the accidental brush of his fingers against hers than it ever did when Milton kissed her.  

But maybe…maybe she should be brave. How can she convince him to apply for positions in the field if she’s not even willing to admit the truth—she would never go without him, she could never imagine going anywhere without him, and maybe that means more than what they’re willing to say.

It’s almost a new year, after all. Jemma’s brilliant; she can phrase what she wants to say delicately. He won’t even know he’s rejecting her, if it’s going to be a rejection.

“F-Fitz,” she tries, before she can talk herself out of this.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Hunter appears out of nowhere, flopping down on the armchair opposite the sofa and tossing Jemma a package of Maltesers. She uses the excuse of opening the bag to shift away from Fitz until a respectable amount of space opens up between them.

“We’re—that’s not—we’re not—” Fitz mutters, crossing one leg over the other and leaning towards the other end of the couch. Jemma’s lungs constrict painfully. Maybe this is the rejection she’d been expecting.

“Bobbi and I used to be exactly like you two,” Hunter continues, either oblivious to their discomfort or not caring. “But let me give you some advice: No matter how close you think you are, if your girlfriend’s ex wants to visit from Phoenix, you do _not_ buy him a plane ticket.”

“That’s…very specific.” Fitz sounds slightly intrigued, but before Hunter can launch into another one of his Bobbi-related rants, Sally, Priya, Max, and Abdullah appear, stripping off their jackets and shaking snow from their trousers.

“Hey, Sally!” Fitz says brightly. “Uh, and everyone. How’d it go?” Jemma stuffs a few Maltesers in her mouth, wishing she could disappear.

“Amazing! We even tried out the black diamond on the south side. Totally exhilarating. How was the class?”

“Amazing! _Exhilarating_ ,”Jemma replies. Fitz glances at her quickly, brow furrowed, but Sally grins good-naturedly at her sarcasm.

“I know, it’s a bit boring at first. But wait until you try an actual run tomorrow. You’ll love it. We were thinking of resting up a bit and then hitting the town later. There’s a club not too far away that’s supposed to be fun. You two in?”

“A club? As in…with dancing?” Fitz winces.

“Relax, mate,” Hunter cuts in. “The key to dancing is alcohol.”

“I thought it was…rhythm. And skill. And a complete lack of self-consciousness.”

“Alcohol supersedes all, as any good Glaswegian would know. C’mon, you can be my wingman. Anyway, you can’t say no if you want some of my Twiglets.”

++

That’s how Jemma finds herself at the bar later that night, hip-to-hip with Fitz, each of them sipping at some outrageously sweet concoction and watching the people on the dance floor—a strange mix of unruffled locals in plaid and overly-dressed up tourists sunburnt from a day of skiing.

Jemma tugs uncomfortably at the sparkly dress she’s wearing, which she finds entirely too short. Sally had let her borrow it with a wink when Jemma admitted she hadn’t thought to pack anything for a night out. Fitz hadn’t commented when she’d stepped out of the bathroom, but now she catches him eyeing her with a completely unreadable expression.

“What is it?” she asks, brushing her hair out of her eyes to stop herself from pulling at the dress again. “Do I look weird? I feel a bit weird all dressed up like this.”

Fitz looks away, taking another swig of his drink and coughing slightly. “No, you look nice. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Jemma isn’t sure how to respond. It’s not that Fitz had never complimented her looks before…although, now that she thinks about it, she’s not sure he ever has. The idea that he might find her attractive simultaneously pleases her and makes her want to run and hide in the bathroom. “Well, you look nice, too. Your shirt is very…blue. Like your eyes. Almost lapis, I would say.”

 _Almost lapis_? Is she flirting? And if she has decided to break all protocol and flirt with her best friend, is that really the best she can do? She downs the rest of her drink quickly and motions for another, startling Fitz into finishing his as well. Then she drags him to the dance floor, to the delighted calls of the rest of their friends.

It’s definitely awkward, at first. But Hunter—and bless him, honestly, why had she ever been skeptical of him, he’s _great_ , truly the best of mates, one of the good guys—keeps them supplied with a steady stream of drinks, until she feels loose enough to ignore all of her doubts and pull Fitz to her side, dancing closer and closer until there’s no space between them. His hands on her waist send heat pooling through her body, and she doesn’t know what she wants to do first—push him up against a wall and kiss him until they’re kicked out of the bar, or take him to a quiet place and confess everything. Jemma doesn’t know what all these feelings mean (Is she curious? In love? Willing to try anything to avoid losing him to someone else?), but Fitz is her person, and he would help her understand.

In the end, she does neither. Her mother would probably say it’s her fear getting the best of her, but when Fitz whispers a joke in her ear and his whole face lights up in response to her delighted laugh, she’s overcome with the utterly ridiculous romantic notion that she wants to do this properly—when they’re alone and sober. When he’ll believe she’s saying this because she means it, and not because of any combination of alcohol and Hunter’s unsubtle jesting.   

She wakes up completely entwined with Fitz, her leg between his, his arm draped across her waist. She closes her eyes and counts to ten, giving herself these precious seconds to savor this feeling before locking it away in a tiny box within herself, never to be opened again. Because she might not have much experience with dating, but she’s seen enough movies to know one thing: If they had spent the entire night drinking and dancing together, only to return to the same bed and not exchange even the most chaste of kisses, chances are he really isn’t interested.

Jemma sits up in bed, pressing her fingers to her chest as if she can compress the wound and soothe the ache spreading throughout her veins. So this is what heartbreak feels like, she thinks. It’s…survivable.

She looks over at Fitz, mesmerized by the way his long lashes flutter against his cheek. Jemma remembers what it felt like when she and Milton had broken up, and she almost laughs. _That_ was survivable. This is…she sighs, pushing herself off the bed and heading for the shower. This is not something she wants to think about at the moment. Or ever, preferably.

++

Fitz can’t quite stop a whimper from escaping him as he holds more tightly to the side of the ski lift chair.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights,” Jemma whispers.

“Yeah, me neither,” he replies. “I thought we’d be enclosed. Or there’d be a bar. We’re just dangling off this.”

“Maybe the better ski lifts are reserved for fancier resorts. There’s probably a reason this trip was so cheap. Anyway, I’m sure it’s fine. It’s not like we’ll fall.”

“Oh no, three kids definitely fell off this last year,” Hunter pipes up from Jemma’s other side. She glares at him as Fitz whimpers again.

At the top of the mountain, the rest of their group splits off for the more advanced slopes, leaving Fitz and Jemma with their choice of beginner runs.

“I had no idea everyone was so much better than us,” Fitz says. “It’s a good thing you came after all. I probably would have stayed inside all day and wasted the money for the lift tickets and ski rental.”

Jemma stares at him in surprise; he’s talking as if he weren’t the reason she almost didn’t come. But she won’t argue. She feels tender, like at any moment her devastation at discovering Fitz doesn’t feel the same way about her will overwhelm all the positivity she’s holding on to—the fact that he’s still her best friend, and he’s choosing to spend his time with her. That’s enough, isn’t it? It’s been enough—more than enough—for years. Things don’t change so drastically in mere days.

“I’m surprised there’s hardly anyone else here,” she replies, slowly inching her way towards one of the slopes. “I suppose most people spend Christmas Eve at home?”

“Or they can afford better ski resorts,” Fitz grumbles, but there’s not any bite to it, and she knows he’s been enjoying himself, more or less.

They make it all the way down without falling too many times, and he envelops her in a celebratory hug. Her whole body stiffens and he steps back awkwardly, but before either of them can say anything Priya and Hunter ski over, drenched in sweat.

“Hey, FitzSimmons! How’s it going?” Priya asks, fanning herself with one of her gloves.

“Pretty good. We’re heading back up for our second,” Jemma answers.

Hunter laughs. “Second? What’s taking you so long? We just finished our fourth.” He widens his eyes mock-comically and elbows Priya. “You uh…take a little detour?”

Jemma glares at him. His obvious insinuations are a lot less funny when she’s sober and heartbroken.

“It’s my fault,” Fitz admits. “I got too nervous so we went down the entire time like this.” He spreads his legs so the front of his skis meet at the tip to form a large triangle, and Priya grins.

“It’s okay. Everyone’s like that at first. You’ll get more confident and go a bit faster.”

She ends up being right. They try the other three beginner runs, gradually increasing their speed until they’re making what Jemma feels is quite respectable time. The rest of their group wants to continue until the lift closes, but she and Fitz are exhausted, so they decide to do one more before leaving early and picking up takeaway.

“Want to try an intermediate slope this time?” she asks, when they’re back at the top of the mountain. She stops to take in the view, the snow glittering in stark contrast to the dark trees, the bright blue of a cloudless sky.

“Not really,” he says, but he smiles softly at her. Fitz’s cheeks are flushed, and her heart stutters in her chest as he stands beneath the clear sky, the embodiment of a future she hadn’t realized she desperately wanted until this trip. Maybe it doesn’t feel survivable now, but it will be, she decides, because she doesn’t have a choice. A lifetime with Fitz in any capacity is enough.

They set off towards the intermediate run, once again alone. There’s something mysterious and magical about the way the shadows from the trees crisscross along their path. Jemma struggles to keep herself focused ahead, wanting instead to watch Fitz carefully navigate the twists of the slope. There’s so much she wants, and she’s surprised to discover a wellspring of love and desire even exists within her. Against her better judgement, she turns back towards Fitz. One of her skis hits a rock she hadn’t noticed and she stumbles, falling forward and crying out more from surprise than pain.

“Jemma!” Fitz yells, shifting so he’s skiing towards her, angling himself to increase the speed.

She tries to tell him she’s fine, but the words get caught in her throat as she sees him hit the same rock she had. His speed and angle are different though, and he flies forward, trying to break his fall with his arms and landing on his shoulder with a muffled yell.

“Oh god, Fitz. Are you all right?” She scrambles up, unlatching her boots from her skis and hurrying towards him. He’d fallen against some rocks acting as a barrier for the ditch along the side of the trail, and her stomach lurches when she gets close enough to hear his labored breathing. Fitz is normally fussy when only mildly sick, but she knows his attempt to calmly control his breathing means this is actually serious.

She kneels down next to him, but he won’t turn to face her, holding his arm awkwardly to his chest. His eyes are filling with tears, and the sight cracks something inside her. She blinks back her own tears and tries to get a peek at his arm.

“I think it’s broken,” she says, looking around desperately to see if anyone is approaching. She already knows they don’t get any cell reception on the mountain.

“Feels like probably the same two places I broke it in second grade…which is strange,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

Jemma stands up, quickly removing her jacket and jumpers until she can tear strips of her shirt off to fashion a splint.

“What…what are you doing?” Fitz shifts slightly and then groans.

“I’m making you a splint, of course.”

“You should go,” he argues. “You can get help. You’re a better skier than I am, anyway.”

“I’m not leaving you here, that’s ridiculous.” She doesn’t even notice the biting cold against her skin as she grabs one of her ski poles for the splint.

“Jemma, please. You’ll get-you’ll get hypothermia. It’s okay. Just go.”

“Ugh, Fitz! It’s barely under 0 degrees; I’ll be fine.” But in concession to his worry, she pauses her frantic work to layer all her clothes back on. “See, I’m fine. Now let me get this on you and we can walk down together, okay?”

She works as carefully as she can, but she can tell Fitz is in incredible pain and she has to stop every now and then to wipe away her own tears. When she finishes, she unlatches his boots from his skis and struggles to help him to his feet. His sharp hiss when he stumbles against her curdles her insides.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “We don’t have much farther to walk, and then we can get you to a hospital.”

“We’re leaving all this equipment here? What if we get charged for them?”

“Then I’ll pay for it.” Jemma wraps an arm around his waist and leads him slowly down the mountain. Fitz’s breathing becomes increasingly strained, but he stays quiet until the sun dips below the horizon.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” he says. “You can go find help faster.”

“We’re so close, Fitz. We’re not discussing it, okay? We’re almost there.”

“But I couldn’t live if you didn’t,” he murmurs, his head lolling against her shoulder. Tears sting her eyes again.

“Well, I feel the same way,” she whispers back, but he either doesn’t hear her or is in too much pain to respond. She focuses on putting one foot in front of the other until they make it to the lodge. She’s never been so happy to see Hunter. He drives them both to the hospital, for which Jemma is infinitely grateful. She’s not sure she could concentrate on driving at the moment. Instead, she sits in the backseat with Fitz, holding his hand the entire time.

++

There are an alarming number of emergencies for Christmas Eve in a small town, so they’re forced to wait hours before seeing anyone. Hunter leaves, promising to return with supplies, and eventually Fitz gets taken back for his X-Ray. By the time they let her see him again, his arm has been set and he’s wearing a loopy, high-on-painkillers smile.

“Happy Christmas, Fitz,” she says, holding up Hunter’s plastic sack of treats.

“Are those Hobnobs?” he asks hopefully, stretching his good arm towards her. She bats it away playfully.

“Be careful. I’ll give you some, okay?” She sits down beside his bed and attempts to open the package, her hands still a little shaky.

“The doctor said your splint was impressive,” Fitz says. She smiles up at him, but he’s frowning at her, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry for ruining Christmas.”

“Oh, Fitz, you didn’t ruin anything. I’m just glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back to the lodge and tomorrow we can spend all day roasting marshmallows, if you want.”

He nods, taking a Hobnob from her and stuffing it in his mouth. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, crumbs spilling onto the bedspread. She leans forward to brush them to the floor, her heart clenching painfully at his words.

It’s not fair to do this now, not when he’s uninhibited from the painkillers, but she can’t help it, the question falling from her tongue before she can stop it. “Why did you tell Sally I couldn’t come, then? She said she specifically said to ask me and then later you told her I couldn’t come, but you never mentioned any of this to me.” It comes out more accusatory than she’d intended, and she holds another biscuit towards him, which he takes but doesn’t eat.

“I thought I-I needed a change,” he admits.

Part of her wants to scoff, to remind him he hates change. The other, larger part wants to curl into a ball and sob. All of their Christmases together, the ones she’d loved so much had been, what, convenience for him?

Fitz sniffles and she looks up, surprised to see he’s crying. Jemma is about to stand up to request more painkillers when he glances at her, his eyes dull. “You had Milton,” he says. “She asked when you had Milton, and I didn’t have anyone. And I thought she-she was _asking_ me, like a date, or maybe it could be a date so I agreed. That’s it.”

He sounds completely resigned, like this is a secret he’d intended to take to his grave, and she wishes he had. There’s no word in her vocabulary to describe the feeling scratching at her skin, that moment of learning her very favorite person in the entire world wanted to spend time with her simply to avoid being alone; that she had always been this easily replaceable.

She was wrong before: _this_ is what heartbreak feels like. She gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Fitz. I don’t really feel like hanging out at the lodge anymore. Let’s go home.”

So they do.

++

The difficult thing about living with Fitz is on the rare occasion they fight, none of the common spaces in the flat are safe. If she wants to avoid him—which, if she’s honest, she never has before—she has to stay in her bedroom. She lies in bed, holding his wrapped gift in her hand and trying not to think about how any other year they’d be in the kitchen together, making enough baked goods to last for weeks (for a normal person, days if you ate sugar like Fitz).

Jemma ignores him when he knocks on her door. She’s not sure how much he remembers of their conversation, and at the moment she doesn’t particularly care. _It’s okay,_ she tells herself. _This is survivable, remember?_  

In the evening, when she’s too desperate to wait anymore, she sneaks off to use the bathroom. When she returns, a tiny box sits against her door. He never bothers with extra frills when wrapping his gifts, but the edges are always folded precisely. She can picture him sitting at his desk, measuring exactly before cutting the paper. She leaves the gift where it is and crawls into bed, drawing the blanket over her head.

Fitz knocks again, rapping out the pattern they’d used since they were sixteen and achingly shy. “Jemma,” he sighs, the soft cadence of his voice carrying through her shelter. “I’m sorry for upsetting you. And I won’t bother you anymore, okay? I never should have lied to you. It was stupid, and I’m so sorry.”

She breathes in sharply, somehow even more hurt by his apology. Before she can talk herself out of it, she jumps from her bed and throws the door open, startling Fitz enough that he has to catch himself on the doorframe.

“I’m not upset about you lying,” she hisses. She hates that they’re having this conversation while he’s standing there with a cast, that despite everything she wants to make sure he’s okay. “That wasn’t great, but fine. It’s over, you apologized. I assume it won’t happen again.”

Fitz shakes his head quickly, stepping back from her personal space. “But if it’s not... then what did I do?”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she says the only thing she has left to confess: “I didn’t break up with Milton because he was boring. I broke up with him because he said we spent too much time together, and I would have chosen you over anyone.”

He gapes at her, continuing to shake his head. “No, no, that’s not—”

Jemma rubs at her eyes in frustration, wiping away the stubborn tears. “You’re my best friend in the world, Fitz. And it hurts that for you I’m just...the person who’s here. That everything we’ve done, all of our traditions, all the time we’ve spent together, it’s only because you didn’t want to be alone.”

She wants to slam the door in his face but suddenly she’s so very exhausted. He doesn’t say anything to defend himself, but he leans down to pick up his gift for her, unwrapping it slowly when it becomes clear she won’t.

“You remember telling me about the cottage you drove by in Perthshire, the one you always imagined settling down in?” Fitz drops the wrapping paper to the floor and opens a small wooden box, lifting a necklace from inside. He holds it up to her, the delicate rose spinning slowly on the chain.

She frowns, thrown by the way he’s speaking. Smoothly, almost confidently, but with a resigned acceptance she’s never heard from him before.

Fitz looks at her, his eyes watery and inscrutable. “I tried to make it like the flowers you described. I thought if I…I thought I could show you.”

Jemma reaches for the necklace, drawn in spite of herself to the intricate design of it, the way the light catches and reflects off the curved petals. “Show me what?” she asks.

“I know I’m your best friend, but you’re more than that, Jemma. And I didn’t have the courage to tell you.”

She feels like all the air has been punched out of her. “N-no,” she says, shaking her head as tears snake down her cheeks. She holds the necklace back towards him, stunned, unable to form the apology, unable to articulate the hollow ache of learning she’s ruined what she’s always wanted before she had the chance to start.

Fitz smiles tremulously, reassuringly. Frustratingly calmly considering what he’s just confessed. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I think deep down I always knew you didn’t feel the same way. That’s why I thought I should try going on this trip alone. Because you were with Milton and I wanted to be happy for you, honestly, but all I could think about was how empty I felt without you and how eventually you’d have…you know, someone more important in your life.”

“No, no,” she repeats, stuck somewhere between protesting his absurd belief that anyone would ever replace him and needing him to stop and explain everything again, very slowly.

He closes his hand around hers. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was trying to protect myself and alI I did was hurt you. Please—take it, Jemma. Not as…as any romantic thing, but so you know you’ve never been just some person. You’re the _only_ person.”

She moves without thinking, peppering kisses on his face, tasting the salt of his tears against his cheeks, his lips, his lips.

“Jemma, but—” he gasps in between kisses.

She draws him back to her bedroom. “Shut up,” she murmurs and for once, he does exactly as she says.

++

Jemma wakes fully clothed, curled around Fitz, who’d propped up his broken arm on her extra pillows. She presses her face against his back, smiling at the memory of how willing he’d been to ignore all doctor recommendations. Luckily for him and his healing bones, she had slightly more self-control.

Soft sunlight filters through her bedroom window. She tightens her hold on Fitz, using this quiet time to catalogue and analyze her feelings. There’s not room for much besides a sort of giddy exuberance, and soon she’s giggling helplessly.

“Mm…Jemma, what is it?” Fitz groans, rolling over carefully to face her and letting her help with his arm.

“Nothing,” she grins. “I’m just really happy.”

He smiles back at her, curls sticking straight up and pillow indentation marking his cheek. He’s never looked more handsome to her.

“I’m really happy too,” he says, reaching over with his good arm to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I love you,” Jemma whispers. She can feel a blush rising on her cheeks. “Is it too soon to say that? It’s probably too soon.”

Fitz rolls his eyes at her. “I literally said that three times last night.”

“Yeah, but you were being kissed. I feel like you would have said anything.”

He gasps in faux outrage. “I’m not being kissed right now, and I still love you.”

Jemma grins, leaning down to reward him with a soft kiss that she’s careful not to let go too far.  “Oh!” she says, sitting up abruptly. Fitz whines at the loss of contact and she gives him one last conciliatory peck. “You never opened your gift!”

He tugs at her arm, trying to pull her back down next to him. “I’m pretty sure I got more than I could ever have hoped for this Christmas.”

She smiles indulgently. She can’t quite believe how quickly he’s transformed into this sweet boyfriend, like he’d been waiting years to say and do all of these things. She supposes he has.

“Well, you have another gift, anyway.” Jemma reaches into her nightstand and hands him the present, grinning at his obvious delight over her choice in wrapping paper. He tears open the gift with much less care than he’d opened his own the night before, tilting his head in confusion when a few print-outs fall from a box into his lap.

“You got us…tickets to Glasgow?” He holds the airline confirmation in his hand, eyes wide. “Jemma…that’s…I can’t believe…”

“I know how much you’ve missed your mum,” she says, shrugging. “And when I called her, she was very insistent I come too.”

“You called her?” He laughs. “I bet she kept you on the phone for hours. But how can we take this much time off? They’ll never let us, not so soon before the next round of placements.”

Jemma picks up the other piece of paper Fitz had overlooked, waving the written approval in his face. “From the head of Sci-Ops herself. Let’s just say I helped her with a side project or two.”

Fitz drops the tickets and cups the back of her head, brushing his nose against hers and kissing her sweetly. “You’re amazing. But you know my mum is going to ambush you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” She slides a finger underneath the chain around her neck, lifting the flower between them. “Maybe we can all take a trip together. Maybe I could show you, too."

This time, he succeeds in pulling her back down next to him.

 


End file.
